


Kaleidoscopes and Light

by shnuffeluv



Category: NCIS
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Episode: s10e01 Extreme Prejudice, Experimental Style, Gen, Non-Linear Narrative, Possible Character Death, Surreal, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 15:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17583557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: I tried my hand at writing surrealism, and this is what came out of it. I don't know how to summarize it, so I'll just say...Tim-centric surrealism, set around Extreme Prejudice if I had to pick a time.





	Kaleidoscopes and Light

Tim watched as the bar on his computer screen reached further and further towards its end goal. Just a few more seconds. Ninety five percent. Ninety six percent. Ninety eight percent. Done. He ejected the flash drive and stuffed it in his pocket as he ran. The air knocked him backwards as the wind rushed out of him, glass splintering and glittering in the air. He closed his eyes and braced for impact.

* * *

Green and brown swirled around him as he sat up. Grass and dirt and mud all around him. He was a kid, playing at the playground, and the one who was "It," Billy Summers, had shoved him to the ground hard enough to leave his palms stinging. He launched to his feet, yelling, "You're gonna get it now!"

He ran for as fast and as long as he could, but his asthma didn't lend very well to being athletic, and he soon abandoned his target of Billy in favor of Dana, the slowest girl in class. He shoved her shoulder, and she stumbled. He used the time it took her her to regain her balance to run away. Something small and rainbow colored flitted across his vision, and he paused to look at it. Suspended in the air, it looked like part of a kaleidoscope. He was shoved back by Dana, and he turned to look at her. "Do you see that?" he asked, pointing to the colorful piece of something in the air.

"See what?" she asked, adjusting her glasses.

Tim turned back to explain what he thought it was, only to have it vanished from sight. He looked around. "It was right here!" he exclaimed, looking around.

"Maybe you should go to the nurse, Tim. Billy must have shoved you harder than you thought," Dana said helpfully. "I'll be 'It' again so everyone can keep playing."

She held out her arm and Tim tapped it. She ran off to tag someone else, and she watched her kick up grass as she sprinted off to chase someone else. He shook his head. The kaleidoscope piece reappeared, sitting just at the edge of his vision, and no matter how much he turned, it never moved. The teacher watching them sent him to the nurse for walking around in circles and muttering. The hallway was packed with students he could barely navigate through.

* * *

The DMV was packed, Tim could hardly get through the crowd, let alone spot their suspect, a worker who was helping take ID pictures that day. The man Tim and Gibbs were after looked up, spotted him, and immediately left his station. Tim chased after him, calling, "Freeze, NCIS!" but the man kept going.

They made it outside to the back alley and the man ran up to the chain-link fence, launching himself at it. Tim followed, grabbing the man and pulling him down onto the ground to cuff him. When he turned the guy around, he was a living pin cushion, glass spikes covering his body, glittering in the sunlight. Reds and blues and greens glinted around the edges of the glass as Tim staggered backwards in his surprised. The man's body slumped to the floor.

There was a bang as Gibbs burst through the back door and Tim turned to face him, words failing him. "Did you have to shoot him, McGee?" Gibbs sighed.

"I didn't..." Tim trailed off. He turned around, and the glass was gone, the man no longer looking like a human kaleidoscope. He had two shots in his chest, and Tim's gun was drawn, in his hands. He approached the body, looking closer for any signs of scratches, anything that would have shown that something was hinky. All he found was a revolver a few feet away from the man's hand.

Gibbs saw it too and clapped McGee on the shoulder. "We'll find another lead," he promised. "Right now, just be glad that you're not dead."

Tim turned towards Gibbs in shock, but the man wasn't standing where the voice had come from. Someone touched his arm and he whirled around, gun poised to shoot at Tony. "Easy, kid!" he said with a chuckle. "Just me. You seemed kinda out of it. Gibbs called the rest of us here to process the crime scene. Can you go get the cameras?"

With a nod, Tim headed out of the alleyway and to the MCRT van. He stumbled, hands flailing for purchase.

* * *

He grabbed onto a woman's arms in the middle of the mall they were standing in, and she laughed. "Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Tim said, standing upright and letting go. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a klutz."

"No worries," she said with a pleasant smile. "My name's Sandy. What's yours?"

"Tim," he responded, holding his hand out to shake.

She responded with a firm grip that reminded him of Gibbs. "Nice to meet you, Tim. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Tim asked.

She looked down around his midsection and he followed her eyes, finding something on his shirt catching the light, not unlike glitter. "I have no idea where that came from," he said with a laugh, wiping it off his shirt, only succeeding in getting half of it stuck on his hand.

Laughing, Sandy said, "I have a niece who insists on glitter in her art projects. The only thing I can guarantee you is that it goes everywhere, no matter how controlled and isolated she is."

Tim laughed too, muttering, "I can't get it off." It burned his hand to touch it and he couldn't wipe it off on his pants no matter how hard he tried. Blood started pooling underneath the glitter as if they were tiny daggers, and Sandy just looked at him with that pleasant smile ever in place. "Do you know where a bathroom might be, so that I could wash this off?" he asked.

Sandy talked like she hadn't heard him. "I feel a little bit like lunch, are you hungry at all?"

"I mean, yeah, I guess, but...there's a lot of blood..." Tim said, crimson drops starting to fall onto the floor, no longer able to pool onto his hand.

Sandy just continued smiling, and took his uninjured hand. "Come on, I'll show you a nice place to eat around here."

A child screamed and Tim turned to look for the source of the sound.

* * *

Tim stood, frozen in place in the living room, Sarah wailing next to him, holding her hand close to her chest. "I told you to clean up the table, Timothy!" his mother chided. "Now look what happened! Your sister reached for a piece of the broken vase and she cut herself!"

"I was trying to clean it up when she came over!" Tim defended. "It's not my fault!"

His mother shook her head and tutted. "I need to have something to drink to deal with the screaming. You can bandage her hand up, can't you? You earned your merit badge for first aid?"

Tim nodded and led Sarah to the bathroom, with her wailing all the way. He pulled the first aid kit out from under the sink, and turned towards Sarah. He opened her hand to find a chunk of glass in it. Except the vase that he had broken had been porcelain. "Sarah, where did you get this?" he asked her.

She continued to cry and Tim grabbed the piece out of her hand, moving it to the bathroom counter, out of her reach, and bandaged up the cut. "That should hold until Mom can take you to the doctor," he told her. "All better!"

The crying turned into sniffles and soon Sarah was off to play again, from the sound of it she went to her room. Tim turned to the counter to pick up the glass only to find a piece of porcelain in its place. He turned it over in his hand and frowned. He could have sworn that the piece Sarah had in her hand was glass. But they didn't even own anything made of glass, save for the windows. He must have been seeing things. That was the only explanation.

Tim was about to leave when he noticed the blood staining the toilet lid. He sighed at the bright crimson starting to dry and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it and scrubbing away the blood.

* * *

Blood was the only scent in his nose and it took all he had in him to not gag at the stench. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, willing away the sight of crimson. It made his stomach churn, and he was almost ready to vomit. He heard a scream from close by and someone rushing over to him, slapping his cheeks, exclaiming, "Tim, Timmy, wake up! Wake up!"

The sensation went away and someone from close by said, "You have to let him go, Abs. He's not coming back."

Tim tried to ask what was going on, but his mouth refused to move. He tried to open his eyes but they felt like lead. He was starting to panic. Why couldn't he move?! Why was someone saying he wasn't coming back?! He was right here! He tried to say as much but again, nothing came out except for a low moan in a whoosh of air.

"Tony, he made a noise! What if he's still in there? He's dying!"

"He's already dead, Abs. You can see his blood everywhere. He's almost been disemboweled. He's not coming back. Not even Gibbs could come back from something like this, let alone Probie."

Tim forced his eyes open and he sat up, but his body didn't follow his line of sight. He turned around to find slashes all over his body, most of them glancing blows, but with one deep slice across his abdomen. He thought he might puke. The stench of blood was still overpowering. More disconcerting, though, was the fact that Abby was staring at him. Not the body below him, but at  _him_. "We'll get whoever did this," she vowed. "I promise, Timmy. Everyone will work night and day until your killer is found. You can rest now."

Alarmed, but also feeling appeased, Tim nodded. His eyes caught sight of the lift drifting through the lace edges of Abby's parasol. Little beams of hope, hitting the ground and dancing whenever Abby twirled the handle. The beams swirled as she twirled, and Tim closed his eyes, letting himself be lulled by the gentle heat of the sun.

* * *

The sun was beating down, and Tim covered his eyes with one hand, looking at the beach in front of him. "All right," he breathed. "I've got a little spot all to myself for some peace and quiet."

He walked to the edge of the water, and then kept walking. As he went underwater, he continued to breathe as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He wasn't drowning, or coughing up seawater. He just walked until he couldn't anymore, watching the waves move above him and the rays of sun dance underwater, making intricate spiderweb patterns on the sand. He swam to the ocean floor to look for seashells; he knew Sara would kill him if he didn't find her a cool shell or a rock that she might like.

He swam forward and gasped, starting to hack in the saltwater, with his eyes blearily making out blood floating into the water. He looked at his hand and found a giant gash in the center of his palm. He looked around where his hand had been, but found nothing it could have been cut on. His lungs burned and he kicked to the surface, coughing up saltwater and tears springing to his eyes from too much salt in the water. "McGee!" a familiar voice barked from the shore.

Tim turned to find Gibbs standing on the shore, and Tim swam back, curiosity propelling him forward. He stood in front of Gibbs and Gibbs smacked him on the back of the head. "Can't die on us yet, McGee. People here still need you."

"I wasn't gonna die, Boss," Tim said, turning back to look at the water.

"Oh, sure you weren't!" Gibbs exclaimed. "The only reason someone walks into the ocean and doesn't plan on coming out again is to commit suicide. You will not die on me, clear, McGee?"

* * *

"Clear," Tim said, before looking around and finding himself back in the bullpen, waiting for that flash drive to finish downloading.

It beeped to show it was done and Tim ejected it, but hesitated in rushing towards the windows. He dashed toward the back exit instead, and missed the shower of glass by mere inches. He stood there, all the breath whooshing out of his lungs in a rush. He could have died in that.

As it was, he wasn't sure what exactly was going to happen next. He made his way toward the exit, flash drive still in his pocket. Gibbs' words were ringing in his ears.  _You will not die on me, clear, McGee?_  The sight of smeared blood on a toilet lid filled his head. The pain of a thousand tiny daggers digging into his hand passed through his senses before fading to the rushing blood in his ears.

He stumbled to the stairs before collapsing as he tried to traverse the steps. He tumbled and rolled, limbs aching with every new bump and bruise he acquired. He could feel a throbbing pulse in his head as he closed his eyes at the bottom of the steps, in more pain than he had previously thought possible. Was it possible to die from sheer levels of pain? If it hadn't been before, Tim was convinced he would be the first.

Colors flew across his mind's eye like a kaleidoscope, light and colors dancing around so fast that he didn't know what to make of it. Sounds all seemed distorted, and opening his eyes felt like a herculean effort, so he figured, why should he try? Someone would find him soon enough, and they could help him if he needed it.

* * *

Everything snapped into place and Tim groaned at the throbbing in his head, reaching one hand up to feel it, only to find that he was smearing blood into his hair. Opened his eyes to see the bullpen, covered in dust and glass and bent steel. Carefully, he pulled himself into a sitting position by grabbing his knees. His hands stung like they had when he hit the ground in that game of tag. He stood on wobbly legs and looked around. The bullpen was trashed. The computers were completely useless, and he was incredibly glad he had backed up those files. He coughed in the dust.

Gibbs swooped into the bullpen, the crunch of glass giving him away. "You okay?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah, I think so," Tim said, his own voice sounding weird, a ringing overtaking almost every other sound his ears could make out.

Gibbs asked, "Where's Tony and Ziva?"

Tim wracked his brain for that answer. He had seen them...they had left in the elevator. They probably had workers trying to get them out as they spoke. "Um...elevator. Workers are on it."

Gibbs was trying the phones and Tim felt hot all over, like he was back at that beach where Gibbs had told him that he wasn't going to die. "It feels kind of warm in here...I think I'm going to go get some fresh air."

"Wait! Stop," Gibbs said, gliding across the room and grabbing him by the shoulders, interrupting McGee from taking off his jacket.

"What?" Tim asked.

Gibbs looked down the way Sandy had at the mall and Tim followed his gaze to find a glass shard, like the ones that had been all over that man, sticking out of his body. The blood on his white shirt looked uncannily like the blood that had been smeared when Sarah had cut herself. He could hear himself say, "Uh-oh," and he looked desperately into Gibbs' eyes. Because he did  _not_  want to wind up dead with Abby crying over his body, insisting that he had to wake up.


End file.
